MY ear is full of summer sounds, <br />Of summer sights my languid eye; <br />Beyond the dusty village bounds <br />I loiter in my daily rounds, <br />And in the noon-time shadows lie. <br />I hear the wild bee wind his horn, <br />The bird swings on the ripened wheat, <br />The long green lances of the corn <br />Are tilting in the winds of morn, <br />The locust shrills his song of heat. <br />Another sound my spirit hears, <br />A deeper sound that drowns them all; <br />A voice of pleading choked with tears, <br />The call of human hopes and fears, <br />The Macedonian cry to Paul! <br />The storm-bell rings, the trumpet blows; <br />I know the word and countersign; <br />Wherever Freedom's vanguard goes, <br />Where stand or fall her friends or foes, <br />I know the place that should be mine. <br />Shamed be the hands that idly fold, <br />And lips that woo the reed's accord, <br />When laggard Time the hour has tolled <br />For true with false and new with old <br />To fight the battles of the Lord! <br />O brothers! blest by partial Fate <br />With. power to match the will and deed, <br />To him your summons comes too late <br />Who sinks beneath his armor's weight, <br />And has no answer but God-speed!<br /><br />John Greenleaf Whittier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-summons-3/
